


Sometimes there is no Catalyst

by AutumnalBloom, awbucks



Category: Captain America, Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Dealing With Trauma, Gen, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, I know, M/M, Oooo, PTSD, Therapy, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, bucky escapes but with no memories or identity, dramam, he runs into tony instead, read it it's gonna be wicked awesome, set right after iron man 1, there is no steve catalyst, uhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:09:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnalBloom/pseuds/AutumnalBloom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/awbucks/pseuds/awbucks
Summary: It's 2008. The asset escapes Hydra. Tony Stark is rescued from Afghanistan. They both wander into the same support group.





	1. Sometimes Living is Done Without Permission

**Author's Note:**

> pretty much what it says on the tin. this is just my first starter, if there's interest we'll post more.
> 
> like comment subscribe whateva
> 
> luvh ya

The asset had searched everywhere for some form of identification beyond soldier and asset. He felt as though he ought to have some sort of title other than that if he was going to live among civilians. Unless the world had changed in Hydra’s favor and everyone was referred to as their working positions and numbers. By the people who served him a breakfast sandwich at McDonald’s, and their name tags blatantly giving away their identities, the asset doubted such a turn of events. So far, he hadn’t had to give a name, so asset he’d stayed. 

Once he was sure he was safely out of Hydra’s reach for the time being, he’d gathered the necessary supplies to sufficiently disguise himself. Hair bleach, some clothes that he didn’t necessarily hate, but found incredibly foriegn, and a backpack with the rest of his supplies. It was a day by day survival, but better than being around Pierce and Rumlow...and what they all did. It confused him, why they did that. Even when he did what they wanted, and didn’t talk and was a good, good asset...they still hurt him. Wasn’t just the shocks, even with his stupid brain he knew why they did that, but everything else? He was an obedient asset. He swore he was. He couldn’t remember if he was or if he wasn’t, but he’d promised Pierce that he would be. 

Well, now, he was out now, gone from them, it didn’t matter. The asset thinks so. He isn’t entirely sure, because what good is an asset without rules? Without order and discipline and-and-

He covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, greasy hair falling over his forehead. Oughta dye it soon, huh? And cut it. Long hair was never much good for missions, but he never knew how to ask for it to be cut. Now, though, he didn’t have to ask anybody but himself, right? The asset didn’t have to follow any of those rules, not ‘till he got a handler again. And they’d be pleased if he was able to survive without any aid. 

The asset stood and dug into the plastic bag of things he’d gotten at the pharmacy. He’d found a bathroom with a lock on the inside of the door and had been hiding in there for some time now. It was a marvel, locking the door and keeping it locked. No one pounded on the other side and there was no handler in there with him. Wonderful. 

__

In the little sink, greyed from years of public use, the asset wet his hair, cupping murky water over his matted hair, and working it through his tangles in a sad attempt to tame it all. There was something in him, some conditioning, perhaps, that gave the asset the knowledge on how to deal with long hair. How to brush it smooth and he even thought if he tried hard enough, how to braid it nicely. 

That wasn’t necessary, though. Without even looking in the mirror; whenever the asset did that for too long pain shot through his temples and pounded behind his eyes, he pulled his pocket knife out and began cutting at his hair. Ragged clumps fell from behind his ears and onto the floor in slick, ugly brown strands. He only nicked himself a handful of times, the blood spotting at the collar of his t-shirt, but then eventually his hair was fairly even, just above his ears, it all slightly spiky and damp. Made his eyes look even more wild. The asset looked away from the mirror, resisting the urge to smash the glass to pieces, and dropped the knife to the dirty tile. It clattered and he instinctively knocked it away with his foot. He never could be armed unless on a mission. The asset’s eyes moved to it and stuck on the dull blade for a moment, frozen on his action before he breathed raggedly through his nose and bent his head over the sink again. 

He took the bleach and dumped it over his hair, spreading it through his choppy hair. It had never been neat, but now...there was no rhyme or reason to it. Just his messy cuts, pulling strands off and trying to look different in any way he could. The bleach stung his scalp and burned especially terrible in the little cuts around his neck. After some hazy minutes, the asset’s eyes unfocused on the walls and his mind no where near his body, he remembered that he oughta wash the bleach outta his hair. 

\---

The next time the asset could remember things he was under a bridge curled around his backpack. Upon catching his image in a puddle of stagnant water and cigarette butts, he could recall bits and pieces of chopping his hair away and turning it blond. It barely reached his the tips of his ears and the brown that still came from his eyebrows and stubble was replaced on his head by a hay yellow. Ugly, ugly, ugly, stupid asset. Stupid little asset, pretty little, stupid little, my pretty little asset. Cry for me, актив. Pout, stupid little boy. 

He smashed at the water and his shirt was speckled with the liquid grime. Those voices, those-those terrible voices. They tied him and twisted him worse than the ropes and the lashes and then the lipstick and the corsets. How he could remember those things and not much else made him angry. How he had no history and no past and the present was a haze but damn, he could remember Pierce and Rumlow’s lips and breath and how much they loved to play with him. Just making him their doll, a little play thing made of metal and flesh and a brain long far gone. 

The asset stood and shouldered his bag, melting back into the crowd on the sidewalk, swiping a pair of dark, tinted sunglasses from the first stand selling them. They were cheap, hard plastic, and felt clunky on his face. 

He kept moving, allowing himself to get jostled, despite his immediate reaction being sharply flinching and twitching. When he wasn’t under Hydra, there wasn’t anything more to him than a bit of muscle and flesh and his metal arm. The real weapon. He was only the carrier, really. Pierce had gone on about how everyone could hit a target from hundreds of feet away, that when it came to sniping, he was nothing special. The only reason he’d been chosen as the asset was that he had no arm and they could give him the prototype. The prototype turned into a success and they never could replicate the surgery. 

Or something. Like that. He wasn’t too sure of the exact history, other than that he was an average man with mediocre skills and a lacking brain, but good enough to work for them. They’d saved his sorry ass live, too. He didn’t feel much. Didn’t feel anything really, but he had a sure hot anger for the men who’d forced life upon him.


	2. Sometimes Karma is a Gaping Hole in Your Chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written by @autumnalbloom. :) we're not sure exactly how this is going to be written, if it will be just be a chapter-by-chapter POV switch or something else
> 
> we really hope you all like it!
> 
> like comment subscribe yknow what to do

Tony had never believed in karma until his chest was gaping open and he was lying there in a dark cave, studying the remains of his heart. It was still beating fast- Tony noted not as quickly as before. Shit. Well, it wasn’t surprising. He’d come to the conclusion about thirty minutes ago that he was going to die. There was metal that kept inching closer to his heart, and the gaping hole in the center of his chest. It came from the car and the land mine, he figured. Still ended up better than the rest of those kids. Hell..he deserved it. They didn’t deserve to die, but he did. Would the terrorists let that happen? Slowly, painfully, he moved his head and looked around the room. It was dark, he couldn’t see much, but..he could see a workbench. Shit. If he could just get up, maybe he could do something. Or he’d bleed out even faster. He put a hand over the hole and touched it, wincing in pain as he did. Shit. Bad decision making. There was blood pooling there, and he grimaced slightly at the confirmation. If he didn’t die from the shrapnel, he’d certainly bleed out. That was when he heard someone come in, and realized they weren’t there to help. Well, they were going to delay his almost certain demise. But...not in the way he’d hoped. 

The next thing he remembered was water, and being shocked back into life. It was the third time they’d restarted his heart, and damn if he wasn’t ready to die. If they’d just let him - let him breathe, let him talk. They were using the battery from the humvee to bring him back to life. Tony couldn’t help but wonder how many times it would work. Finally, he broke. Everybody broke, anybody who said they didn’t were bullshitting. 

 

“Fine,” He gasped out, desperate just for the torture to stop. They were drowning him, wouldn’t let him sleep for longer than an hour at a time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, just couldn’t keep anything down. And..his heart. The shrapnel was so close, they could reach in and pick it out with their bare hands. Sometimes they did, but there were still some pieces that would drive their way inside before they noticed. It seemed like they were trying to keep him alive- barely. Now he’d give them what they wanted. A weapon. 

That was where he met Yinsen. He was a good man, a lot like the kids in the Humvee. None of them deserved what they got. But Tony did. They worked well together, considering Tony was so blinded by pain. They had gotten him up and going, got a little food into him..he’d even managed to makeshift a bandage to wrap around his chest. Still, he hadn’t resolved the problem..only put it off for a day or two. They were expecting a weapon capable of destroying half a country, and Tony had the parts for..none of that. But, he’d come up with a plan with Yinsen, and a rough design. It was going to take a lot of work, but..Tony had an idea to escape. It wasn’t like he could really build them a weapon. He had enough blood on his hands.   
It was supposed to take them two days. It took them three. That was when they lost patience, when Tony was making the final touches. He had no other choice, no time or hope for even a Tylenol, so he just..pushed the electromagnetic ring into his chest and activated it. It took everything in him not to scream and finally, it was in. The metal felt heavy and foreign in his chest, the fresh burning pain never fading. His lungs felt cramped and tight, breaths coming hard and shallow. Tony couldn’t scream though. Now..now they had to get out of here. Theoretically, the gauntlet would shoot energy. Hopefully enough to take them down. If it didn’t, they were all screwed. After taking a few more seconds to recover, he stood shakily, feeling weak and..wrong. Like he wasn’t human anymore. Well, the electromagnet did technically make him a cyborg. Even if he wasn’t quite ready to be the Terminator yet. He told Yinsen that, and it was the first and last time Tony saw him smile. 

When he got back home, Tony knew he’d never be the same, but somehow..for some reason, he thought things would be better once he was out of danger. But, his body didn’t seem to realize that, and neither did his mind. Every time he just went to wash his hands or take a shower, it felt like he was drowning all over again. The pain in his chest never went away. The only good thing that happened was that he decided to stop making weapons, and start making amends. It was sudden, but he was busier than ever, and in a way, that helped him cope. Sure, he wasn’t eating and he couldn’t get within fifty feet of a fountain, but he was making advances in clean energy and a smartphone that could be charged from the sun. Wasn’t that what people expected of him? They didn’t care about the man himself. It all became too real when he went to a party, realized..how much he had changed.

The party was normal, nothing out of the ordinary when he used to be the real Tony Stark. The genius, the playboy. It would probably be better if he just dropped all the modifiers from his business card and just replaced it with..empty space. That summed up how he felt. Women surrounded him, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe in the crowd. Whiskey helped, but when didn’t it? It was just about the only way he kept going nowadays, he was becoming his father all over again. Shitty coping mechanisms included. That night, he tried to have sex- with anyone. Each time, he just..couldn’t. Couldn’t think straight once anyone got too close, freaked out. It was a good thing he was so handy with excuses. People wrote it off. Besides, he was ‘traumatized’. They pitied him. Tony hated that. He had to be stronger than that. 

A few hours later, he left, and Pepper broke up with him. She wanted to be by his side, but she couldn’t handle his new personality. His new mental state. Well, Tony wasn’t sure how she dealt with him before, when he was an even worse person. At least now he knew he was an asshole. Before, he’d never really thought about it. Now it was all he could think about. At about three a.m. and two more bottles of whiskey later, he’d hit rock bottom, and that was when he started searching for someone to talk to. That’s when he saw an advertisement online for the PTSD support group, ran by someone he thought he could trust. It was anonymous, but..when you had a face like his, it probably wouldn’t escape the attention of the media. Still, it would be worth a shot. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks friendos


	3. Sometimes Getting Help Helps Others Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet, and Phil is there too.

Tony was nervous walking in. He was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, a suit was too recognizable, felt too much like a mask these days. Tony just wanted to be treated like a person today, not a figurehead. He wanted to be able to talk to somebody. Was that too much to ask? Walking in, it looked like a normal conference room, with a group of about ten chairs. It was a small group. That made Tony more nervous, they’d definitely be talking for a while tonight. He looked around, then spotted the leader of the group. He was a short, tired looking man in a crisp black suit, and reminded Tony of a secret agent, but nicer somehow. There was only one other man there so far, who kind of gave Tony a bad feeling. He looked like he had just escaped from the 90’s, with bleach blonde hair that was shaggy and uneven, and an I <3 NY t-shirt. Tony walked up to the pair, and the blonde one fell silent instantly. He looked over at the shorter man, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Tony. Uh, tonight’s my first night here. Could you explain how this usually goes?” 

The man shook Tony’s hand for just a moment, then nodded, looking him over. This man was Tony Stark. Not quite the man he had read about, but still trying to keep up appearances. Even minus the suit, it was painfully obvious who he was. “Nice to meet you, I’m Phil Coulson. You can call me Phil. Usually, when there’s someone new to the group, we introduce ourselves, then say why we’re here, and then everyone else introduces themselves. For example, this is James. He’s new here as well. We’re going to start the meeting in just a couple minutes, but I’d like to talk to you first separate from the group.” He stepped aside with Tony and smiled a little bit. “So, Tony. Usually, before the group, I like to talk to new people about things to avoid talking about that might trigger someone else, as well as what brings you here and what issues you’ve been dealing with.” 

Tony shifted from one foot to another, nodding a little bit. “Well...I decided to come here because I was kidnapped, and since then, my life has been slowly falling apart.” That was the understatement of the year. “My work life has never been better, and I’m making a lot of breakthroughs there, but..my personal life is pretty rocky, and..I’ve just been doing a lot of unhealthy things and dealing with new phobias.” He glanced down to the ground for a second. “I guess I just don’t feel like myself anymore.” Not the cocky asshole that everybody used to love to hate. “Is that okay? I still don’t know whether I belong here or not, but I wanted to try it.” 

Phil nodded a little. “Certainly. I’m sure that your experience was traumatic, and that you belong here. We’re going to try to make you as comfortable as possible, along with everyone else. Specifically, I would avoid describing anything in great detail, as that usually leads to at least one person thinking too much about their issues in a negative light. Beyond that, don’t worry. The group is slow to welcome newcomers, but I’m sure they’ll accept you eventually. 

There..is one more thing, though. I know you’re Tony Stark, and..that’s totally okay, you’re welcome here, but I do have what might sound like a strange request. James over there seems to be..well, sleeping rough. I’m concerned about his physical needs. He can’t recover mentally without having at least some of their needs met, and he seems too traumatized to seek out shelter on his own. I was hoping you could at least get him some dinner. I know he’s a stranger, but..it’s a personal request.” 

Tony looked hesitant, then looked back over at James. He looked...rough. Tony was better at hiding his problems, it seemed like. But maybe James’ were just worse than his. Shit. Was he..did he belong here, if he could manage it? If it wasn’t..totally ruining his life? After all, he wasn’t homeless. “Yeah,” He blurted out, guilt overwhelming him. “Of course he can have dinner with me. I don’t really have anybody else nowadays.” He trailed off, feeling awkward. At least he wouldn’t be all alone again. Maybe after they got some food, he could convince Bucky to stay with him. After all of his staff left and the tower was empty late at night, Tony usually felt terrified that something would happen. He’d hired night security guards, but..they never went to his personal floor. Being alone with his thoughts was just too scary at times. “Whatever you think he needs..I’ll be happy to help.” 

“Excellent, thank you so much, Tony. I really appreciate it.” Phil looked Tony in the eyes as he said it, and it was clear that he meant it. James deserved to be safe, and Tony deserved not to be alone. It was the perfect setup. He checked his watch, then walked over to the center of the circle. “If everyone could please find a seat, the meeting is about to start, and we have a new addition tonight.”   
\----  
James, yeah, that’s what he’d been calling himself, lately, shifted in his seat and eyed the new man uneasily. He’d been talking to Phil, longer than it usually took the man to finish his spiel. He had only been here a couple weeks, hard as it was to get here. Remembering to, being awake, and getting out of whatever alley or tree he was camping at. Remembering was something he hadn’t had to do for so long, it took him practice. James let himself believe that that’s all it was, the asset being out of practice, but the fact that he was slow and dumb circled around too. Must be true, if Pierce had told him so. 

Overall, James thinks things have been going well. He is allowed to sleep long as he needs, and never in ice, and no one was ever watching him. He’d made sure of that. Food was a bit of a struggle though. It had been so long since he’d eaten real things, that all they did was land in his stomach and come right back up. He couldn’t handle anything. He remembers tubes and needles, but nothing solid. Maybe...maybe there was another problem with him, and he just forgot?

He’d stayed out of Hydra’s way for almost a month now, and for that, he allowed himself a bit of slack. Seeing Phil was the lowly highlight of his days, still marked only by shivering and twitching and using the hazy sink water to get the dirt out of the chinks in his metal arm. The arm hurt enough already, and all he wanted was it gone. Please? The metal hung on his shoulder like a lead weight, pulling at the muscle with every movement. It chilled his bones, too, straight down to his core. If the asset hadn’t been so scared of the consequences, he would’a ripped the damn thing off. 

If Phil hadn’t tracked him down more than once to bring him here, James wasn’t sure if he’d get it through his thick skull to come. He really didn’t want the nice man to turn against him. Punish him for not coming. 

 

Phil always referred to him as James and that made him feel something he couldn’t quite place. Comfort, perhaps? The asset-James, he wasn’t sure exactly. He’d ask Phil, but that was most likely a stupid a question, and the man would see how brainless he was. Phil would hear him speak, in his rough, bumbling way, trailing off and stumbling through words. It was a shame, a damn shame, really, how his words got stuck between his tongue and brain. Never could get them out fast enough. Not for Pierce, or Rumlow, and now not for Phil. It was a weakness. One that he was trying to hide. He knew he was mentally incompetent, and losing his physical strengths due to malnutrition; this would just be the last straw for any semi-intelligent handler. 

Soon, Phil would learn of these flaws. Then the asset would end up back where he was before. Alone and cold. He was always cold, but he didn’t always have to be alone. The people here didn’t force him to do anything. Not even talk. If James lost this...there was nothing else. It was difficult as it was to keep basic things in order in his mind. When to sleep, how long, when to wash up...very action involved some level of mental effort on his part. Nothing was automatic. They’d conditioned that out of him. Self-preservation wasn’t considered a necessity for them. Only when mission orders required it be so. James had a hard time grappling with the fact that death wasn’t coming easily nor was punishment. Any pain he’d felt in the past while had been caused by himself. 

The group was the only speck of good the asset could recognize. It was warm and clean and soft and quiet. And there was Phil. Who he remembered and he remembered when there was more of James in his head and Phil always knew who he was too. And never called him stupid or his boy or anything like that. 

And then there was this...this new man. Whoever this man was, Tony, he thinks he overheard, seemed oddly familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. That was a common trend, but it still hurt his mind every time he tried to access something that wasn’t there anymore. James ducked his head, he was too tired to fend off fellow support group members with a glare but didn’t want their attention either, and passively pulled at the skin around his fingers. James came here because it was a warm room, warmer than the convenience store and they served tea and coffee as well. James just sipped on hot water, but it was good enough for him. 

He shifted in his seat, the t-shirt he was wearing pulled awkwardly on his metal arm, that damned thing, and showed off his bony collarbone and scars that inched their way under the fabric from his back to his shoulders. It was like a key in the wrong lock, or a puzzle piece jammed where it should fit. Wasn’t supposed to be there, wasn’t ever supposed to be there. Kinda like him, he figured.   
-  
Phil looked around at everyone and began in a calm voice. “Hello, everyone. Thanks for coming tonight. We have a new group member tonight, Tony.” 

Tony stood up awkwardly, fixing his hair. “Yeah, uh, I’m Tony.” Shit. Get it together, Stark. Even in the unlikely event that everybody didn’t know who he was, he didn’t want to seem so pathetic. “I’m here because I was taken hostage and almost killed by terrorists.” It sounded so..stupid when he said that. It was more than that of course, but he wasn’t allowed to talk about the specifics in public. It was all classified, not that it usually bothered Tony. In this case, he wished he could talk about the thing in his chest. “And they mutilated me.” That was the best way to describe it. The reactor. “Thanks for letting me come here.” He glanced back down at the floor, then sat back down in his metal folding chair. Tony had never been to a therapy group before, but this seemed to be how it worked. 

Phil smiled gently at him. It was clear the man was trying his best, and he needed some encouragement to stay in the group. “Thank you so much, Tony. So today, we’re going to talk about readjusting to a normal lifestyle after a traumatic event.” 

After that, Tony was only half-listening to Phil. Knowing he was supposed to take somebody out to dinner- he was trying to deduce who it was. The guy with the bleach blonde hair? While studying him a bit more closely, Tony noticed something weird. His left arm was oddly shiny. A prosthetic? Maybe he was a veteran. Then he saw the star. Shit. That was not from the US Army, and it sure as hell wasn’t a special issue. That was Russian. Did Phil know about it? Was he trying to get him killed? James didn’t really seem like an assassin, but maybe he was. Appearances were deceiving. 

Phil looked over at Tony, then to the rest of the group. “We’re going to split up into smaller groups and introduce ourselves better. Tony, I’d like you to sit with James. Mmm, Harvey, I’d like you to go with Linda, and Cheryl, I’d like you to go with Egan.” 

Tony hesitated, then stood up and moved his chair over towards James. “I’m Tony.” He said, forcing a small smile. “So you’re James? It’s nice to meet you. Phil asked me to take you out for some soup tonight, and I know a perfect place if you want..” He shrugged. “Or whatever kind of food or drink you’d like. I think we’re supposed to be talking about how we’ve been coping lately.” Tony paused, then chuckled. “I dunno about you, but, I haven’t.” He gave James a wry smile. “I’ll..shut up now so you can talk.” 

James looked at Tony for a long, painful moment. Phil asked him to take him out for dinner? Why? Was this...did-was James supposed to know who this was? A pinch caught right at the base of his neck, and his eyes squeezed shut in pain. His hands balled into fists, and it took him more than a minute to get himself back to a reasonable frame of mind. 

“Uh,” James tried, there was always a delay between what he wanted to say and when he said it. “You don’t...Y’don’t know me...right?” James winced and chewed on his lip, hoping the answer was yes. And even if it wasn’t someone James was supposed to know, could it be someone the asset did? And he’d been caught? Caught stumbling over words with his stupid brain and stupid voice at a place where real people go?  
That wasn’t allowed. 

“I’m...I’m sorry if y’do.” The words followed automatically, even if they didn’t sound like it. Someone told him once to be nice and to be polite. That rule didn’t feel like conditioning, so the asset kept it around for safekeeping. 

“My head’s...head’s not too good.” James finished, flicking his gaze up to Tony’s for a brief, scared moment. The man didn’t look like he was ready to pounce, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a taser in his pocket or handlers on call. You could look pretty, and you could look gentle, your voice could be soft as silk and your eyes sparkling like crystal, but none of it mattered. No one ever looked at anyone like that with the truth behind it. The asset was stupid, and that’s why it worked. Everyone else saw it for its trickery, but not him. Not their good asset.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t think so. We just met, as far as I know.” He shrugged, sitting down. He felt a little more at ease in this group, more than he’d felt around anybody except his robots. “It’s okay if you have a hard time remembering things. I have a photographic memory, so I won’t forget. I can always remind you, or..whatever.” He shrugged. “I know I don’t really know you yet, but Phil asked, and I wanna help if I can. I have some money so that I can help you with shelter or food or whatever.” Tony really wanted to help. He wanted to be useful again. He had been so lonely since Pepper left, and he understood why it was just tough. 

“I guess I haven’t been doing an outstanding job with coping. My girlfriend left me, which, I admit, I really treated her wrong.” Tony chewed on his lip. “I made a lot of mistakes. I don’t really know how to get over all the guilt yet, honestly. Do you know anything about that?” There was a good chance everyone in this room had something on their shoulders like that. He didn’t say anything for a minute, then Phil invited them all back over to the central area. Tony gave James a weak smile, then moved back to his spot. Maybe things would be okay. The rest of the group didn’t seem very accepting of him yet, but James didn’t seem to mind or even know who he was, so that was nice. One less thing to worry about. Dinner would probably be interesting, but it would be good for Tony to get back out there. Or at least buy a decent guy dinner who deserved it.

James stared at Tony as he left, his brain pulsing. Blood rushed in his ears, and he felt his heartbeat pounding in his hollow chest. It was a solid, hard pain that could only be equated to the dead weight hanging on his left side. That fucking arm was slow, falling apart, and did more harm than good. Not that it had ever done any good. James could only hope that it’d stop sooner or later. If that included stopping the asset too, well, it only made sense. 

For the rest of the meeting, the asset’s concentration was subpar to the point where even he wanted to punish himself. Stuck inside his mind, the asset was blank faced and not in any form to properly defend his handlers or fight against any threat. He was useless and weak and- A coarse jacket brushed up against him, and he immediately froze, shaking like a leaf. Wasn’t him. Ain’t you, you’re my hero, my best friend, sun to moon, oh that’s love, ain’t it? Ain’t it B-   
Someone gently pushed a paper cup with water in it into his hand, and then let him be. Little droplets splashed onto his jeans, and the coolness hit him like a needle. No more needles either. They’d used them like hot pokers, and were thick and stung and filled with things that made his insides churn and then-

James blinked at the fluorescent lighting and sucked on his bottom lip, he’d bit too hard, and it was bleeding. His vision was too blurry, too out of focus, for anyone to really stand out, but thankfully no one was coming after him. So, he could just sit and fend off the incoming threads of panic and whatever the hell was coming along with it in his mind. Memories? Of what? Of who? He came from nothing, he was nothing, he came from nothing he was nothing…

It had been an easy decision for Phil to end the meeting a few minutes early when he noticed that James was gone again. It wasn’t surprising, given his past, but...it was still difficult. He really needed to talk to Tony about this soon. Come clean about what was going on. It felt wrong, especially since he wasn’t a trained psychologist to make these people think that he was. Sure, he knew a lot about human nature, but...he knew someone else could do a better job. It made him feel guilty, but he did have a job to do. The next thing on his list was getting James some water, which didn’t seem to help. After he had at least left the man with that, he walked over to Tony. “Did you find our group helpful? If you need anything personal, feel free to call me.” He pulled out his business card, but not his fake one. “I can help in more ways than one. James needs your help.” With that, he put his glasses on. “I’m going to go try to get him in a state where you can take him out to dinner.” He wasn’t really sure how he was going to do that, but Phil was going to give it his best shot. 

Tony looked at the card and flipped it over a few times, his forehead wrinkling. A SHIELD agent? What was this, some kind of group therapy for the rich and famous? Didn’t seem it...maybe it was some kind of setup. Shit. They probably wanted his weapons, didn’t they? On the other hand, Phil seemed trustworthy. Tony didn’t trust many people nowadays, but...Phil did seem like he actually wanted to help. Talked to him like a normal person. “Alright.” He said, looking back at Phil. “But don’t screw me over, or your whole organization will regret it.” A new thought popped into his head. Was James some kind of double agent? It seemed unlikely, all things considered...the poor guy seemed pretty traumatized to do a job like that. He just hoped nobody else would betray him this week. 

Phil walked over to Bucky and knelt down slightly, so they’d be at eye level since Bucky was sitting down. “Hey, Bucky. Remember how I said Tony was gonna take you out to dinner? He still wants to take you up on it if you’re ready. I bet you’d like it..he has money to take you somewhere really nice if you want that.” 

Tony nodded. “Name any place in the city, and I can get us in. From the smallest diner to the biggest names in dining, Tony Stark is on the case.” He grinned, the first genuine smile he’d worn in a while. “But, if you just want to go back to my place and have a Depression Meal, that’s fine too. I have a shit ton in my fridge that my friend Rhodey left me for this week.” He knew the Depression Meal all too well. Reheated casseroles, half of a peanut butter sandwich, a can of soup. It was stupid, but sometimes it just took Tony a lot of effort to do shit that he didn’t use to think twice about. Sure, he wanted to go out and be Tony Stark again, but if James wanted to go somewhere quiet and just have some soup, well, Tony would be happy to admit that it sounded better. There was less danger in the quiet places. 

“Anyways, uh.” He fell silent. “I’ll shut up now.” 

Depression meal? Depression...depression. He knew that. The Depression. Was a good thing they did away with the no booze law, ‘cause damn, all that pent up anger would’a flooded the streets. Maybe...maybe that had happened again? James wasn’t sure. They never called their dinners that back then. Or maybe they did. 

Either way, Depression seemed to have more potency than normal vocabulary. It wasn’t...it wasn’t a trigger. No. No, not that. The asset didn’t respond to depression in any way. It was the James in him that did. But...he didn’t know why. 

Sometimes they did that, didn’t they? Open his mind up a little just so they could take more out? Let the asset remember just enough to pull the memories away. If he was a good asset, Pierce liked rewarding him after. Or Rumlow, if he was feeling nice too. They loved being nice sometimes. Loved how blank his mind was and how little he fought back. Those were the only times he didn’t feel cold. Then, he was sweltering. It was like their fingertips were molten steel and they branded his ugly body all over. He was supposed to be leaving marks, shaping the world that so desperately needed his work, not the other way around. Whenever he came back with scars or gouges or anything...it was his fault. 

Hydra was supposed to control the world. The world shouldn’t be able to touch Hydra. 

James shakily stood, body still hunched over himself, a chill chasing every inch of heat away forced himself to shake off whatever feelings he had about the depression. He wanted to remember what he could, and if he let on, he’d just lose it, he was sure of that. They always had good ways of getting him to lose things. Shocks to his weak brain, slaps...the asset was never quite strong enough to retain things under pressure. It was shameful really. He took a couple steps over to Tony, and stood behind him, enough so that he wasn’t intruding. 

Maybe tonight he’d be able to handle real food. That...that’d be nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long! Sometimes we revisit pieces that have been dormant for a while, and this is one of them. <3


End file.
